


A Quiet Life

by HazelRiver



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Fluff, Gentleman Harry Hart, Happily Ever After, Happy Ending, Harry Hart is a Little Shit, Hartwin, High School Teacher AU, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, So Married, Teacher AU, Teacher Eggsy, Teacher Harry, harry hart is an idiot, harry thinks eggsy is a student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelRiver/pseuds/HazelRiver
Summary: Harry Hart is a high school English teacher stuck in his bookish ways and happy that way until he meets Eggsy Unwin, a young man who Harry mistakes for a student. Eggsy makes forward advances into a romantic relationship, only to Harry's confusion and moral dilemma. Eventually it is revealed that they are both of legal age for romance, sexual situations, and a very happy ending.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SgtRutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtRutter/gifts).



Harry Hart could not decide what was worse, the stale fluorescent lighting that blinked down upon the office or the stale scent of coffee that wafted in from the administration office that he could just peak into from around the corner. He coined his fingers through his hair, the autumnal breeze had brushed it eschew on his walk from the car into the front office, where he did his best at seeming patient while the woman behind the desk clacked away at the computer. It was a bustling office, high school boys with feet dressed in ridiculously heavy-looking sneakers shuffling after girls in short skirts carrying purses that cost more than Harry’s previous month of combined grocery bills. No matter how good of a night’s sleep he’d had the previous evening, Harry always found himself tired and borderline-grumpy on the first day back at school after a holiday break.

“Just another minute, Mister Hart.” Marsha, Harry remembered the secretary’s name with a small jolt of guilt at ever having forgotten it, informed him with a flirtatious smile. They’d been on a date once ( _or had it been twice?_ ) back when he had first started teaching, but she was proudly engaged now and the fellow she’d brought to the previous year’s holiday party had been quite polite, Harry wondered if she’d told him about the date—the firmness in his handshake suggested that it was quite possible that Marsha had indeed.

“What seems to be the problem, Marsha? You know I’ve been in the same classroom since I started here.”

“It’s just a clerical error, Mister Hart, just another minute.” He clenched his teeth as she turned back to the computer, though he waved his hand as if to let her know that he was in no rush. A gentleman through action, perhaps not thoughts. Leaning against the counter of the office Harry surveyed the students, once more. It was hard to believe that this group of youths would be out applying for universities in just a few months; Harry could recognize a few of them from previous years and there was no doubt that their summer had led to growth and maturity, at least some. It was when he turned his back to push Marsha to move just a tad quicker, if possible, that a young man bumped against him without any apology and forced Harry to question the maturity he had only just thought that the older students had.

“Hi, I’m Eggsy Unwin—it’s my first day here.” His dialect was thick but attractive, Harry thought, but no more attractive than his wavy blonde hair and striking chin. If the boy had been a few years older he might have been just Harry’s type: blonde, clean-cut, chiseled jaw, twinkling eyes, and an energy about him that was quite irresistible even with his rudeness.

“You’re gonna have to wait.” Marsha droned without glancing up from the screen, for which Harry was grateful—the boy should have shown respect for his elders and apologized for bumping into him, or at least waited his turn to speak to the receptionist. _Youths_ , Harry thought with amusement, _always in a hurry and with no consideration for those around them._

It was then that the blonde looked up at Harry, as if noticing him for the first time, and Harry was sure his heart stopped at the smile thrown his way. Eggsy Unwin was not just an attractive but rude boy, he was a devastating example of the beauty that the human gene pool was capable of creating.

“Sorry for butting in, it’s my first day. Eggsy Unwin.” The blonde’s hand was smooth against Harry’s palm and for a brief moment, when their fingers brushed as their hands dropped in unison back to their respective sides, Harry feared the boy would register his rapidly accelerating heartrate.

“Mister Hart.” The grey office seemed louder, suddenly, and brighter too. Warmer, as well, even as students continuously passed through the doors that led to the main courtyard where the September breeze was pulling at their scarves and escaping sheets of paper. Sea green eyes flecked with silver blinked up at him from under perfectly curved eyebrows and Harry had to clamp down the swell of arousal that flipped in his gut, had to force himself to avoid looking at the boys pink lips or fit arms.

“Have you worked here long?” Eggsy asked, one arm leaning on the counter, their eye contact still unbroken.

“Seven years,” Marsha answered for him, sliding Harry’s lanyard back across the countertop to the point that Eggsy had to straighten his posture to avoid being hit by the plastic keycards attached to the necklace, “you’re all updated, Mister Hart, thanks for stopping in and sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Not a problem at all, Marsha, thanks for your help. I’ll see you around, Marsha. Eggsy.” He nodded to the boy, allowing himself one last look after sliding the lanyard around his neck, then exited the office.

September in London was biting, the air so unforgiving that it slapped his cheeks pink and tugged at his nose until it ran. Harry Hart was thankful for the cool weather and the long walk to his classroom, it would clear his head and dry the sweat that had started to pool beneath his coat in the warm office. It was the office that was warm, of course, his heat had nothing to do with the handsome young man who had brushed so firmly against him, definitely not. And before the first bell rang Harry had certainly not flipped through his attendance lists with a strange bout of disappointment and relief to see that Eggsy Unwin’s name was absent from the forms. It was for the best, he told himself as he placed the syllabi on the desks of the first period students, that he did not have a handsome student in his class. The last thing he needed after teaching the same literature course in the same classroom at the same school for seven years was a young man to shake up his view of the world, or his students.

\--

It was a quiet life that he led. He had never been married, though he and Merlin had lived together for many years in the closest thing to love Harry had ever experienced. Merlin wanted _more_ , something Harry found himself unable to give; it’d been years since they had been romantic, they still remained good friends.

He had a dog that he adored, Mister Pickle. Who spent all of his time alternating between snuffing around Harry’s ankles and sleeping on the couch as Harry read or watched telly. They were happy together and lived with a quiet, familial sense of comradery. All of their food was shared, the bed was shared, and (more often than he would prefer) Harry’s shoes were shared to be ruined. What Mister Pickle did while Harry was at work was the dog’s own private business, though Harry had a doggy-door installed that led out to the garden, so he liked to believe the little grey dog spent time cloud-gazing or sun-snoozing.

Harry Hart filled the hours before work with tea and the newspaper, the drive to work with quiet music, the monotonous days of work with texts with the few teachers he was friends with outside of school (Percival and Roxanne, mainly), the drive home from work with loud rock music, the hours before dinner with Mister Pickle and an hour at the gym, dinner in front of the telly, then shower and bed. It was not a life he boasted of, but still he was proud of all that he accomplished and earned on his own.

Harry Hart led a quiet life that began crumbling one second at a time from the very first moment he laid eyes upon young Eggsy Unwin. The beautiful boy interrupted his thoughts at the most inopportune times, he had stained his dreams with the perfect pink of his lips and the waves in his eyes, telly was incredibly boring and frustrating when the plots did not live up to the imagined life Harry had created for Eggsy (though his own fantasies of what the boy was like changed often to suit his own moods), and though it was still a peaceful, smooth existence—Harry found himself suddenly jolting in the middle of the day, as if waking from a bout of sleepwalking, scolding himself for his inability to restrain his mind from floating to Eggsy once again. They had met once, but Harry was terrified of his own inappropriate interest in the boy. So he suppressed everything, as any good Englishman would, and continued his quiet life without allowing himself to consider the consequences of his own _innocent_ interest in the boy.

\--

Rain came down in long, thin drops that swelled down in beautiful blue bursts that raced across Harry’s windshield before being swished away by his wipers, only to reappear seconds later in even larger droplets that rolled and swirled into each other in a dance that blurred his vision and caused him to drive extra slow on his way into work. Harry, a born and raised Londoner, had left the house twenty minutes earlier than usual that morning, in preparation for the typical traffic that accompanied the rainy weather. He’d also packed himself a raincoat, a large canister of steaming tea, and a retractable umbrella that would shield him whenever he finally made it to campus and had to carry the papers he graded the previous evening from the car to his classroom.

They were two weeks into the semester and he was rather pleased with the results of his first assignment: a four page paper on each student’s choice of classic British literature, it provided him with some variety and them with the belief that they were making decisions (an important belief for students in their senior year of high school), when really he spent most of the previous evening reading about Dickens’ _Great Expectations_ and Bronte’s _Jane Eyre_ —books they had been assigned to read the previous year. Harry’s mind was occupied by these thoughts when he saw a dark figure, in his rear view mirror, clutching a coat around himself and tucking his chin into his chest as he attempted to walk through the rain. Traffic was stopped, the car in front of Harry’s had shifted into park and Harry did the same before rolling down his window and calling out to the drenched figure,

“Are you heading North?”

“I’m heading to the Kingsman Academy for—Mister Hart?” When the boy had started speaking Harry found it impossible not to recognize Eggsy Unwin’s voice or figure, even when his blonde hair had been wetted into appearing brunette and his handsome chin was tucked into the top of his collar.

“Good lord, my boy. Would you accept a ride to school?” Then Eggsy was racing around the hood of the black car and clambering inside, making apologies for wetting the seats all while smiling and sliding his coat from his shoulders and being, overall, incredibly distracting. Harry attempted to distract himself with fidgeting with the heating dials and flipping through radio stations, but glancing over at the young man’s devastatingly handsome face was a rather impossible impulse to ignore. Even soaked through and literally dripping, Eggsy was one of the most beautiful specimens Harry had ever laid eyes on.

“Thank you so much, Mister Hart, I don’t know what I would do if I was late again.”

“You’d get detention, probably, or in-school-suspension.” Eggsy laughed at this, at the dryness in Harry’s voice, and the older man found himself reddening slightly under the attention. It had been quite some time since he’d had such a handsome young man in his passenger seat, or even sitting so close really, but of course he would never vocalize those thoughts—of course not. Not to a student, not to a minor, not to someone so young and impressionable. So Harry worked not to notice the way his skin glistened from the rain or the thickness of his spread thighs as he tapped his fingers across his knees in impatience.

“You can help yourself to my tea, if you’d like, it would warm you up.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t take your tea—not when you’re already driving me-” The boy was polite.

“Eggsy, please do, it would insult me if you didn’t.” The slow creep of traffic allowed Harry to watch Eggsy’s cheeks flush an attractive pink as he thanked Harry and he helped himself to the canister, mouth resting where Harry’s had sat only minutes before. His eyes watched the slow gulp that worked Eggsy’s thick adam’s apple, even as Harry’s brain told him to refocus on the road. _In grade school some kids had said that sharing a drink was the same as kissing_ , Harry had to shake the thought away with a deep clearing of his throat.

It panged him, slightly, that after that short conversation they sat in quiet for some time with only the low chatter of the radio to fill the car as the inched toward the school. Finally, after consulting the clock and realizing that it was a lost hope, Harry dialed the front office’s number,

“Hello Marsha, this is Mister Hart. I’m calling to inform you that the weather has me stuck in traffic and I will be late, if not absent, from my first hour class. I’ll need someone to cover for me. I also have a Mister Eggsy Unwin with me, I’ve made him late—there should be no consequences for his tardiness.” Admitting that he had the boy in his car felt like the confession of a sin rather than the admittance of a favor, but he would not have the boy marked tardy simply because he did not have an alternative way to commute to school. If anything, the boy should be given extra credit for going through such lengths just to get to class; when Harry was his age, he looked for any excuse to be able to skip.

“Thanks for calling Mister Hart, Principal Merlin has a lot of the kids in the gymnasium. There’s a few of you late this morning, tell Eggsy we say ‘hi.’” They hung up after some pleasantries and Harry slid the phone back into the empty cup holder.

“Thanks for the ride, again. I’m new to the area, still getting used to the commute… I usually take the tube in and then bus over but, you know, rainy traffic and all that.” Eggsy shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Ah. I see.” The lull was his own fault and, flailing for something interesting, Harry heard himself drawing attention to the awkwardness of their new acquaintanceship by asking, “So are you doing anything interesting in your classes?”

Eggsy jumped at the opportunity to strike up a conversation and Harry realized that the boy probably felt it was Harry’s job to set the tone of their dialogue. Perhaps Eggsy was worried that Harry thought he was intruding on his morning routine, or that Harry was simply being polite and did not actually want to get to know Eggsy; Harry wished either of these things were true, instead he found himself relishing the brightness of Eggsy’s eyes as he animatedly began speaking,

“Oh yeah. It’s only the beginning of the year so we’re just working into the lesson now, y’know? But we’re focusing on Henry the Eighth and all his wives as a starter, usually a good focus point. Keeps people interested. Scandals usually do.” He might have winked, but Harry had only seen it out of his peripheral—they were starting to roll along quicker, then, just as the first period bell would be ringing to start. Harry did not allow himself to feel anything, forced a sense of detachment between him and Eggsy—that was safest—so merely found himself nodding along with a fake huff of laughter, no matter how entranced he might have been by the astuteness he saw in the student.

“You teach English, right?”

Harry nodded his confirmation.

“So what do you have your kids working on?” Eggsy was working to keep up the conversation, eyes burning into Harry’s profile as he drove on and the rain slammed heavier across the windshield. The sun might have been setting for how dark it grew as thunder rolled overhead and the wipers worked viciously to keep their view clear.

“I’ve just graded their papers on any classic piece of British literature of their choosing.”

“Did anyone do _Pride and Prejudice_?” If the weather had been better and the roads drier, Harry might have let his gaze race to Eggsy’s, but he did not.

“No, none. Why do you ask?”

The sound of cotton against leather hinted that the blonde had shrugged again,

“It’s my favorite, I dunno.”

Harry cleared his throat, thoughts flying apart as he tried to console himself with the fact that many people probably wished they had stayed in bed that morning but he was there with a smart conversationalist beside him, looking to discuss literature.

“Mine, as well.”

“Really?” Eggsy laughed aloud.

“Why is that so surprising?” Harry had to work to sound offended, hoping to incite a reaction from his companion. They had left the towering buildings of London’s cityscape and were riding down long rows of expensive housing, the sort that a teacher’s salary could not afford.

“I dunno,” They both chuckled again, “I guess I pictured you reading informational text or sumthin like _Paradise Lost_.”

It may not have been funny enough to inspire laughter had it been spoken by anyone else, but Harry could not stop himself from merriment. He adjusted his glasses, which had been slipping down his nose as he shook his head with laughter, enjoying the sound of Eggsy’s huffing and chuckling. It spilled out of him in short bursts of _chuffaw_ ’s that Harry couldn’t help but enjoy, it was joyous.

“I suppose John Milton is who you believe _boring_ people read.” The straightness in his tone did not fool Eggsy, his chortling continued,

“Not boring, no, just stoic.”

Harry snorted, doing his best to keep a stoic façade in place as Eggsy gazed at him, finally quieting but still grinning up at him.

“I hope it amuses you to know that I’ve never read Milton in full…Besides that, stoicism is an art-form for any good teacher.”

“Oh spare me the lecture, please.”

\--

A pile of books, wrapped up in brown paper and a yellow ribbon, were waiting for Harry upon his arrival to his classroom. It was the Friday after he had driven Eggsy to school and offered to write him a pass to class, a statement which had sent them both back into a fit of unexplainable giggles. They’d parted ways with a firm handshake, both splattered with more rain from the walk from the car to the front office. If he hadn’t been a teacher and Eggsy hadn’t been a minor, Harry knew he would have offered him a ride home or asked him for a drink. Instead they shook hands, Eggsy winked, and they walked in separate directions to class. Harry would be lying if he said he had not looked for Eggsy’s familiar figure each day on his morning commute, but he had not seen or heard from the boy since their ride in together.

But now, as he slowly undid the messy bow and pushed away the crinkling paper, he knew this was the work of Eggsy Unwin. A tattered-covered edition of Jane Austen’s _Pride and Prejudice_ , an unblemished edition of John Milton’s first book of _Paradise Lost_ , and a slightly-worn edition of Oscar Wilde’s _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ stared up at Harry. The smile that spread across his cheeks was unavoidable, though he wished the rhythm of his heart would slow because _for fuck’s sake Hart, the boy is off limits._ He rubbed his thumb across the edge of the pages, enjoying the aroma of paper and ink as he flipped through them. Tucking the ribbon into his pocket and brushing the brown paper into the trash bin revealed a scribbled note that flitted out onto the desk.

_Dear Mr. Hart,_

_Thanks for the ride the other day, I really appreciate you reaching out. I’ve had a bit of a rough start here, but meeting you has made it a tad brighter. So, thanks. You’re my favorite teacher here, by far._

_This is my favorite copy of P &P (read the intro. it’s excellent), a new copy of Milton (think I can borrow, when you’re done?), and I just finished reading the Wilde—I’m sure you’ve read it before, but I loved it so thought I’d lend._

_Anyways, thanks again,_

_Mr. Eggsy Unwin_

Harry would not let himself before seduced by a schoolboy, he told himself as he slipped the books and note into his bag with a smile threatening the corner of his mouth, absolutely not.

\--

He devoured the books in the quiet of his flat over the weekend.  Friday night he was completely engrossed with Milton, he read over dinner (one hand clumsily forking food to his mouth as the other struggled to keep the book open and turn the pages) and then out in the garden with Mister Pickle roaming around in the shrinking tulips. Tucked up in bed with his glasses pushed up against the crease between his eyebrows, Harry finished the epic poem at four in the morning. With a sigh of satisfaction he closed the book and pulled the string of his lamp, cloaking himself in darkness before falling into a quick sleep.

Saturday stayed huddled up indoors, devouring _Pride and Prejudice_ for nearly the tenth times, greatly enjoying the introduction that Eggsy had suggested he concentrate on. With all of his windows open and back door thrust wide, September wind gusted through the house and tickled the soft bit of skin beneath his chin that reminded him of his own growing age as he let himself fall into Austen’s flowery brilliance. It was a quick read, always had been, and he’d finished with the Bennet sisters’ happy ending before he finished his supper. _Dorian Gray_ was a reread for Hart, as well, and another quick one. He’d always loved Wilde, having learned about the author’s biography before reading his work; the Irishman probably could have written anything at all and Harry still would have loved him, which is how he supposed many people had felt about him upon meeting the charming man.

By noon on Sunday he had finished all three books and the fridge was completely empty. Lacing Mister Pickle up on his leash, Harry braved the misty drizzle that dampened his cardigan and darkened his hair as he headed to the local corner shop. He’d been a loyal customer at the shop for over a decade, since before he and Merlin had gotten together and then split; the couple that ran it had always been friendly to him and Mister Pickle.

_Milk, tea bags, biscuits, pasta, chicken, heavy cream, pesto, sundried tomatoes, garlic, thyme, oatmeal, apples…_

He was reaching for a carton of eggs when he was pushed from behind, someone had brushed heavily against his shoulder and-

“Eggsy!” He’d announced the young man’s presence before fully registering that the boy had purposefully knocked into him, in mockery of their first meeting, and was waiting cheekily for a reprimanding.

“Hiya, oh-” He gasped with such drama that Harry had to glance over to the front of the store, relieved to see they had yet to garner the cashiers attention, “and who is this?!”

Harry was horrified that their chance-meeting was being stretched out to anything longer than a quick wave in passing, while also being entirely thrilled that their chance-meeting was a full conversation and that the boy had had the courage to approach him. He really should not have been quite so pleased to see a student outside of school, or to have allowed a gift from the student to occupy his entire weekend, but there he was—now staring at that incredibly beautiful minor—and willing himself not to appear too flustered by their encounter.

Eggsy (seemingly unaffected by their entire relationship) was already crouched in half, fingers shoved in front of Mister Pickle’s face, cooing and pleased when the dog happily lapped at the digits before positively vibrating under Eggsy’s petting hands.

“This is Mister Pickle.” Harry supplied in lack of anything else to say.

Eggsy glanced up at him in amusement,

“Mister Pickle, really?”

“Yes,” Harry found it rather hard to stay annoyed, “Mister Pickle, he named himself so be kind.”

“Ah, of course.” Eggsy grinned up at him as he rose, shoving his thumbs in the pockets of his dark jeans and looking away as his ears turned an endearing shade of red, “Did you get my note?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ve just finished the last of all three this morning; that was very thoughtful of you. If I had known that I would see you I would have returned them.” Harry gestured to his empty cart as if to show that he had not brought the gifts, though he had no reason to feel any worse about not having brought them.

“Oh no, no! They’re gifts, really I hope you’ll keep them-”

“I thought you mentioned reading Milton after me, though. And I couldn’t keep your favorite copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ —that is an excellent introduction, by the way, I must agree with you.” Harry placed the carton of eggs in his basket, as both men were suddenly realizing how quickly they had spoken, and that they were standing rather close in the middle of a corner shop.

“I’m glad you enjoyed them.” Eggsy said, a smile flattering his boyish features.

“I did, very much.”

“Well alright, then.” The blonde spoke as if he had been coerced into a decision, “How far do you live from here?”

“Uh, just two blocks east of here.”

“Great, I’ll wait for you to pay then. I’ll be out front.” Then he was gone.

\--

By the time Harry had paid and grabbed his bags, it had stopped raining and Mister Pickle trotted happily between them as Eggsy followed Harry to his flat. There was an unspoken understanding between them, that they were both interested in the other but too respectful to make any advancement. Before meeting Eggsy, Harry knew he would have been humiliated at just the _idea_ of forming any sort of relationship with a student—it was not entirely uncommon, he knew, for teachers to pick favorites and act like mentors to these students (Miss Morton, in fact, had been one of Merlin’s favorites back when she was just a student and before he was promoted to Arthur’s position as Principal) but Harry had never seen the attraction in growing close to a student, before. Eggsy at least, Harry consoled himself with what little he could, was not on Harry’s roster of students and seemed to respect boundaries. However, as they walked closer and closer to his flat there was an impending sense of anticipation that built between them—as if they both recognized that an issue was coming to the forefront of their friendship, soon.

“Do you live around here?” Harry wondered aloud, murmuring his thanks when Eggsy reached out to take a few bags from Harry’s hands. Neither of them commented on their brushing fingers or the lingering buzzing that remained once their skin had parted.

“Not far, a bit south of here actually. Kinda on the dodgy end of town, with my mam and lil sister.” The image of Eggsy’s mother waking him up in the morning for school sent a lurch of bile up into Harry’s throat, for fuck’s sake—he was despicable.

“Oh…that’s good.”

“Yeah, she’s on hard times. Recently divorced, you know, I’m just trying to help out.”

The wind had stilled and a few leaves swirled around their feet as continued on for a few minutes with just the sound of Mister Pickle’s panting as an underscore. Before Eggsy asked,

“Have you ever been married before?” It took Harry off-guard, it was rather forward for a student to ask their teacher, but he supposed it was obvious they had a sort of understanding that they were a bit more than that. Mentor, he reminded himself, that was it. The boy said he had been having a rough start to a new school; simply a mentor.

“Um no. I was close once, about five years ago, but it wasn’t legal for us to marry then anyways.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s perfectly alright, Eggsy,” He smiled down at the boy, against his better judgement, “maybe one day. Ah, here we are. Watch your step.”

He unlocked the door and unclicked Mister Pickle’s leash before pushing the door open, seeing his own flat as if for the very first time: through Eggsy’s eyes. There were dishes in the sink, the rug in the entranceway looked worn, from where they stood he could see the ruined corners of the couch that Mister Pickles had attacked when he was a puppy, there were butterflies pinned to frames that adorned the wall, it was…quaint, and small. Though Eggsy had said he came from the dodgy end of town, he still lived with his mother and Harry was sure her sense of interior decorating was a tad more refined than his own.

“Sorry for the mess, I can say I would’ve cleaned up had I known you were coming, but I wouldn’t have. Go on in.” Eggsy’s eyes were wide as he walked through Harry’s home and Harry could only imagine his thought process; he remembered how strange it was to see teachers out in public, as a child he’d had ideas of teachers sleeping under desks, it was odd to imagine people living real lives outside of what you saw. Mister Pickle raced between them and out toward the doggy-door, off to bark at the fence that blocked him from seeing the neighbor’s poodle.

“It’s small, I know, but it’s just Mister Pickle and me so-” He found himself explaining, against sense or reason, and was thankful when Eggsy interrupted,

“I love it, you can really tell someone lives a full life here.” Harry wanted to question his definition of “full” but said nothing, instead he led Eggsy to the kitchen table where the three books sat and handed them over. They stood in silence as Eggsy grappled with the books, readjusting them over and over in his arms until he was satisfied with their order and weight.

Searching for something to say, Harry floundered before settling on,

“Thank you again, Eggsy. I can sincerely say that this is the most thoughtful gift a student has ever given me.”

“You’re w—wait, sorry, what?”

“I said this is the most thoughtful gift that a student-”

“You think I’m a student?” His dimples were not revealed as he did not smile. Instead he stared up at Harry as if the older man had grown a second head within the last minute.

“I beg your pardon…yes?”

As if on cue, Eggsy burst into boisterous laughter, letting the books drop to the table so that he could grasp the back of one of the chairs as he bent over and absolutely howled. Harry could do nothing but watch, blinking in confusion and slight annoyance as Eggsy’s blonde hair fanned out around his forehead and his dimpled cheeks turned red with the effort of his laughter. Soft hands wiped tears from the corners of his eyes as he continued to chuckle, coughing slightly from the effort, struggling for air. Before Harry could allow his hopes to be raised too high, he interrupted the laughter with,

“Would you mind filling me in on the punchline?”

“I’m not a fucking student, you daft prick! I’m the new history teacher—I just graduated university last May—oh god, I can’t believe you thought I was a student! This whole time I’ve been wondering: _why hasn’t he asked me out? Why won’t he kiss me? Is he not queer or wha_ -”

Eggsy was incapable of continuing as the books clattered to the floor, one of the legs of the chair screeched against the wood, and the younger man went stumbling backwards as Harry pressed their lips together. The long line of Harry’s body straightened against Eggsy’s much smaller one, they both groaned at the contact as the flattened against each other, lips pursed and tongues roaming as Eggsy was pushed against the wallpaper.

“You have no idea…how bloody pleased I am…that you’re of-age.” Harry murmured against Eggsy’s neck, where his lips fluttered as he pressed hot kisses there.

“You have no idea,” Eggsy challenged with a cheeky glint in his eye, “how pleased I am that _you’re not straight_.”

Their foreheads were pressed together as they both laughed at this, both mentally going over all of the missed signals and miscommunications that had passed between them within the past few weeks. Pure and utter glee sang through Harry’s veins as Eggsy’s hands roamed through his hair and the younger man’s lips teased at Harry’s jaw. A singe of electricity rang through him as their lips met once again and Eggsy sucked Harry’s tongue into his mouth, sparking heat and arousal and pure need to burn through his veins like wildfire. _Relief_ was hardly adequate to summarize Harry’s feelings, it turned out that he was _not_ a leering old man, after all. Well, not entirely. Hungrily, Harry shoved his thigh between the other man’s legs and reveled in his hardening arousal.

“Ah,” Eggsy’s delicate eyelashes fluttered across the tops of his cheekbones, dusting over pale freckles and drawing the curtain on his beautiful eyes, he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and Harry pressed his thigh tighter against him, “Harry, if you don’t take me upstairs and fuck me soon, I’m gonna go mad.”

Harry’s jaw clenched at the suggestion and it was a slight struggle to keep himself upright as all of his blood rushed to his cock. Dizzy with lust, he clumsily pulled the blonde into a messy kiss–shameful for someone his age to be so effected by such words, really–before he started pulling him out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

They made slow progress, Eggsy’s eyes clamped shut each time Harry sucked a kiss into his throat and Harry groaned each time Eggsy’s hands raced across Harry’s toned stomach. Tripping up the stairs they undressed as quickly as possible: Harry’s shoes at the foot of the stairs, Eggsy’s sweater forgotten over the railing, a belt buckle clanked harshly against the wood of the landing, trousers were fought out of against the wall, Eggsy nearly came as Harry unbuttoned his jeans only to grope him through his pants-  
“Stop, stop!” Eggsy moaned, head becomingly tilted against the wall and hands rubbing hurriedly over his face in a clear fight for control over his body. Harry could not resist pressing a chaste kiss to the dark mole on the man’s neck as he pressed his thumbs into the warm elastic of the boy’s boxers. He was utterly beautiful, perfect. It struck Harry then, only two steps outside of his bedroom with his coworker nearly naked in his arms,

“What do you want out of this?” Eggsy blinked, grounding himself even as his hips thrust towards Harry’s warm touch.

“I dunno, I was hoping for more than a quick fuck though…” How remarkable it was that politeness and gentility had made him blush not at being thrust up against a wall but at the suggestion that he may want a relationship with the man holding him there. Harry’s mind flitted around this thought as warmth grasped his heart and constricted his chest,

“Yes, my boy, yes.” Eggsy pushed himself up, arms more like the tentacles of an octopus than that of the shy young man who had ridden in his car and left him books as a romantic gesture, and mashed his mouth against Harry’s lips.

“Should we do food and a movie…?” It was Eggsy’s stuttered afterthought as Harry led them, clumsily and half-tripping, through his bedroom door. Besides his pants, Eggsy’s socks were the last of his clothes to be removed, Harry did the honors on his knees. 

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Harry promised, fingers caressing the delicate angles of Eggsy’s ankles, “when we wake up we can get breakfast and see a matinee, hm?” 

But Eggsy had no true hope of replying, not then, as Harry’s mouth pressed hot kisses to the thick outline of his heavy cock. The little gasps and sighs of pleasures were the greatest compliments Harry had ever received as he slid the thin cotton down shapely legs and took the swollen prick in his mouth, hand rolling against what his lips could not reach, eyes wary of looking up into Eggsy’s eyes for fear of coming then and there. He quickly found a rhythm that the boy seemed to enjoy, bobbing his head in long strokes as his hand squeezed and released, slick with his own spit. Shaking fingers guided Harry’s head as he fell into the closest mindset he’d ever been to approaching meditation, Eggsy’s grip in his hair tightened when Harry swallowed and his thighs started to tremble–Harry glanced up then, delighted to see liquid lust in the seas of green, his pupils were inky black and blown wide as he stared down at his cock disappearing between his co-workers’s lips.

“I’m gonna come if y'don’t stop soon…” It was a regretful promise just surviving over a soft sigh of delirious pleasure. As soon as he slipped out of Harry’s mouth Eggsy’s hands were searching for Harry’s arms as he muttered, “Hurry up and fuck me, Harry, hurry hurry hurry…” 

Whether he knew he was murmuring it or not was unclear as he allowed himself to be guided back onto the bed, completely nude and watching hungrily as Harry slipped his last piece of clothing off. They remained still for a moment, hearts pounding as their eyes took in their reward for their forced-patience. Then suddenly Harry was upon him, kissing down and then back up his chest, flipping him onto his stomach and enjoying the whimpers Eggsy released as Harry found the lube and slipped a finger into his tight hole.

“Have you ever done this before, Eggsy?” The younger man’s thighs returned to shaking as Harry crooked his finger and found the spot that he trusted would make Eggsy see stars; as Eggsy thrust forward in pleasure, entire body tensing and shining with sweat, Harry slipped another finger into his heat.

“Eggsy, I need an answer so I know just how much you can handle.”

He stilled his fingers, relishing the annoyed look that was shot over the curve of a beautifully freckled shoulder.

“Maybe I’d be able to fucking answer if you weren’t scissoring me open like a mad man.”

Harry thrust in harder for the cheek, Eggsy shouted out an obscenity that would make a nun’s ears burn.

“I’m not scissoring you, my dear boy, I’m fingering you–this is scissoring you.” Eggsy’s body collapsed forward with a cry of disbelief, forcing Harry to use his free hand to grip Eggsy’s hip and ground him back against where Harry’s fingers were shuttering open and closed. 

“For fuck’s sake, Haz!” Any heat between them nearly dissipated at Harry’s sentimental joy in having a nickname but Eggsy’s next words brought it swelling back into his gut, “Just fuck me already, fucking hell.” 

“How could I resist that?” He stroked himself with a palm full of lube before lining up with Eggsy’s tight hole.

They were one in a matter of moments, though Harry had had to slip in slowly, shivering against the burning stretch around his cockhead and then his throbbing shaft as Eggsy went completely still (save for his fingers, which clenched and rolled in the sheets beside his cheek.) Deliciously soft things met Harry’s longer, skinnier ones as he began to slowly roll into Eggsy; he barely had the self-control to not begin ramming into the younger man, but he was aware of Eggsy having avoided answering the question about how experienced he was, and so he held his hands on his hips to still him as Harry took long rolls into him. Letting him adjust to size and speed took an immeasurably long amount of time where Harry could only focus on breathing, the burning grip around his throbbing dick, and anything to keep him from coming: football, his granny’s dentures, spiders—it was an amateur trick that had worked for him in his younger days but the sight of Eggsy writhing beneath him and clenching around him made the trick nearly useless.

“Alright?” Harry wondered aloud as he enjoyed the sight of Eggsy’s shoulder muscles rolling and flexing.

“Faster…” It was a breathtaking plea, desperate and achy. It had the right effect on Harry, his stomach coiled and clenched as he quickened his pace, rewarded with Eggsy’s heightening moans.

It was a relief to move quicker and then even more of a relief when Eggsy began thrusting himself back onto him, harshly folding backwards until he was on his knees and his back was pressed to Harry’s chest.

“I’m impressed you got yourself up like this during your first time.” Harry could not help but lavish the small of Eggsy’s neck with hot kisses, enjoying the overwhelming sensation of Eggsy so close, attempting to memorize each shuttering breath that the boy fought to repress.

“Don’t patron-patronize me— _fuck!_ ” His cock was leaking profusely and Harry did not waste time in reaching around to stroke it, accepting Eggsy’s full weight as he leaned back. With one hand on Eggsy’s cock and the other on Eggsy’s fluttering ab muscles, Harry rocked them in a grinding motion and rhythm that sent Eggsy’s head lulling backwards to rest on the older man’s shoulder.

“Tell me when you’re close…” Harry murmured, pressing his lips directly to Eggsy’s ear so the boy would feel his breath and ride his tone.

“Close, close…” Then Eggsy was finishing, come splashing up his stomach and across Harry’s hand. His pleasure jolted through Harry, squeezing around him and reanimating him until Eggsy was pushed forward once more and Harry set a bruising pace. The past few weeks fluttered through his mind: the boy’s eyes, the boy’s lips, the little yellow ribbon which was hidden in his closet, the boy’s hands-

“Harry, come for me. Please, lemme have it, Haz.” That was all it took before he fell over the edge in harsh shutters and a hoarse curse; then he was weak and exhausted and clammy against the boy’s back.

Time passed oddly then, feeling as if an hour was swallowed up in a big wave but as if every minute stretched out for an eternity. The men laid together, sweat soaked and come stained, neither wanting to get up to fetch a wet flannel to wipe them down with. Harry was still dizzy, the spinning of the room a slow counterclockwise motion that slackened with each dense blink of his eyes. The press of Eggsy’s feverish skin against his own was overwhelming but comforting, there was no panic or need to construct and exit strategy—Harry was actually surprised at his own contentment with his arms wrapped around the freckled chest.

“Alright there, old man?” Eggsy’s voice was completely shot through and he looked as wrecked as he sounded. Blonde hair sticking up at all odd angles, cheeks seemingly burnt into a permanent blush, a reddening mark that looked suspiciously like a hickey creeping into formation at the small of his neck, and yet he stretched his lithe limbs with a satisfied groan.

“You’ll be the death of me.” Harry dryly confirmed, only to have Eggsy chuckle and press an adoring kiss to his lips.

“Not anytime soon, I hope. We’ve got the whole rest of our life stretched out, yeah?”

The way Eggsy spoke with such sincere hopefulness, such assured confidence, tautened Harry’s heart and brought strangled tears to the corners of his eyes.

_How wonderful to have an unspoken understanding of the utmost love, admiration, and respect with the man who was both made from and haunted your dreams._

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted with further kisses to his cheeks and the thin corners of his lips which creased into a smile as Eggsy burrowed closer to his chest, a closeness that might have caused him discomfort with any other human.

“’He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’ Do you know who said that?”

Eggsy’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment of concentration and the lamp light cast him in a golden glow, or perhaps that was not the lamp but Harry’s adoration.

“Dunno, must’ve been a lady—unless it was Oscar Wilde?” He shifted slightly so as to see Harry’s eyes better and his concentrated gaze forced Harry’s heart to leap forward into a quick patter.

“You were right with the former: a lady, Emily Bronte. _Wuthering Heights_ , have you read it?”

“No, Haz, I haven’t.” He yawned and Harry suspected that was the end of the conversation. Rearranging a pillow with the free arm that wasn’t trapped beneath the blonde’s head and then flicking out the lamp with a wide stretch of his arms, Harry settled in for bed with what little of the duvet hadn’t already been strung around Eggsy’s hips.

“Will you tell me the story?” Eggsy murmured with cracked lips and a strained voice, Harry quickly learned he could never deny him. So he began,

“Certainly. There once was a man named Heathcliff…”

\--

Harry Hart led a not-so-quiet life after he started up a relationship with one of the younger teachers at school. He went from being a hermit who kept to himself and lived alone with his books and dog, to being a hermit who kept to himself and his boyfriend who lived with his boyfriend, books, and their dogs.

Their relationship had started slow, even after their exclusivity-confirming discussion after rather mind-blowing sex: Harry courted Eggsy like a gentleman. Harry had asked Eggsy to breakfast afterwards and they’d been together ever since. The school found out rather quickly; as it turned out, Marsha in the front office had told the entirety of the teacher’s lounge that they carpooled together every morning in Mr. Hart’s car, they had been an assumed item since that rainy day. Their students were eager to tease them both, but more so Harry than Eggsy—it was no surprise to anyone that Eggsy was in a relationship or happy and outgoing, but to see Harry’s indulgent smiles and blushing cheeks whenever Eggsy popped his head into the classroom drove the students to endless taunting and innuendo.

“It’s all entirely inappropriate, Tina Brooks actually asked me how you like your breakfast the other day—I had to send a note home with her.” Harry lectured one evening to a nodding Eggsy as they ate Chinese out of the cartons.

Eggsy did not look up from his copy of _Mansfield Park_ , which sat cracked open in front of him on the kitchen table.

“It’s all entirely inappropriate.”

“You already said that, dear.” Eggsy spoke around an eggroll, he was already in the sweatpants that often dubbed as his pajamas.Harry’s own copy of _The Other Boleyn Girl_ (a recommended reading from is history-teacher-boyfriend) was forgotten in favor of watching the blonde’s eyes scroll over the page. Upon noticing Harry’s steady gaze Eggsy blushed, murmured a quiet reprimanding, and tossed a fortune cookie at his admiring boyfriend.

\--

Within the year, Eggsy was moving into the flat. He brought his barking pug, two suitcases, three cardboard boxes, and his younger sister to supervise the move. Daisy Unwin, Eggsy’s adored and spoiled sister, had quite taken to Harry and spent most of Eggsy’s moving day bossing the older man around.

“What do you think, Dais, you ready for your surprise?” Eggsy asked from his spot in front of their closet. Harry and the toddler watched him from the bed, where they were playing Go Fish through fits of Daisy’s giggling at Eggsy’s loudly announced annoyance that neither were helping him unpack. When Harry pointed out that he’d advised Eggsy to slowly start moving his things in all week, Eggsy quieted but still pouted as he hung each piece of clothing from his suitcase into the closet.

Daisy looked away from her cards to make eye contact with Harry in a way that very clearly said _“can you fucking believe this guy?”_ for a four and a half year old, before climbing off the bed and following her brother down the hall to finally see the surprise. At her squeal of joy, Harry assumed she was pleased. Upon Harry’s suggestion, they had transformed the spare guest room into a bedroom for her ( _and,_ the voice tucked away in the back of Harry’s head spoke, _for their future children_ ) complete with a bed, toys, a few new outfits, and her very own bookshelf that they had stuffed full of children editions of their favorite classics. Sitting on top was a worn, illustrated copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ that had become her favorite bedtime story each and every time she’d spent the night.

“Thank you Harry!” Her tinny voice screeched from down the hall. Harry flopped onto his back in quiet glee, unsure of how he’d ended up with not only a lovely boyfriend but a growing family, as well.

\--

Another year later, they were married. No one at work could quite comprehend how quiet, studious Harry could keep up with boisterous, charming Eggsy—but that was fine by them, no one needed to understand but each other.

“Are you nervous?” Eggsy had whispered through the crack of the door, fingers reaching through to run along Harry’s sweaty palm. Both men were too superstitious to look at each other, but stood on either side of the door imagining the others body heat as they stroked each other’s hands and synchronized their anxious breathing. The room Harry had gotten ready in was quiet and empty then, Merlin (as Harry’s best-man) had already gone out into the main hall where people were crowded into rows upon rows of chairs and waited for the arrival of the grooms.

There was a crowd of people waiting for them both, but Harry was grateful for this moment of near-silence with his fiancé. His one and only, his Eggsy.

“Not a tick.” Harry lied through his teeth, “I’m nothing but excited to spend the rest of my life with you—can’t believe it’s taken us this long to do this, really.”

Eggsy’s chuckle was dry and forced and made Harry want to do nothing more than throw the door open and comfort him with a tender kiss, an enveloping hug.

“What if…?” Eggsy’s soft tone was the one he used only when he was self-conscious of his own thoughts, if Harry had the ability to despise anything about Eggsy it might have been his past which stomped on his self-confidence—or his inability to pick his wet towels up off the bathroom floor.

“What if what, my love?”

“What if something goes wrong, Haz?” Harry’s mind raced around itself for a few moments, attempting to calculate what Eggsy could mean, what could possibly go wrong. There was nothing that could go wrong though, not when he had his lovely boy as his husband.

“It won’t.” Harry decided simply.

“Ok, it won’t.” Eggsy agreed with a hint of a smile in his voice and a appreciative squeeze to Harry’s palm, “See you out there.”

“See you out there.”

\--

They honeymooned in the south of France, in an airy flat that overlooked the crystalline sea and the sparkling pool. In the mornings they threw open the windows and cooked crepes with too much whipped crème and not enough fruit, before Eggsy swam laps around the long stretch of the pool and a tanning Harry watched from his reclining chair over the tops of his books. Harry delighted in the sight of Eggsy’s taut body stretching across the water, creating waves that bounced off the sides and invited him in to join his young husband. The evenings usually contained long, salty moon-bathing in the sea before Eggsy found himself flung down onto the white sheets of the bed and devoured in the cooling French air.

“Do you wish we could stay here forever?” Harry wondered aloud one evening, long after their lovemaking, when they had returned to the tiny kitchenette to glare at slow-cooking pasta in a pot.

“No, then I wouldn’t get to see you in your teaching-cardigans ever again.” Eggsy responded easily, lips chasing away spare droplets of the white wine he’d been sipping since noon. Fondness radiated between them as they ate their slightly-hard pasta in silence, the moon sending shadows and light across them both before they dipped back into the sun-heated pool. It was perfection.

\--

On weekends they often kept to themselves, wrapped around each other in bed or with their limbs draped across each other on the couch as they read in silence. Mister Pickle and JB, Eggsy’s pug, had separate beds that were pushed together on the bottom shelf of the bookcase; they respected each other, but needed their own space, unlike their humans. Only two years had passed since their wedding before they were able to successfully have a surrogate carry their son and daughter, one was Eggsy’s biological child and the other was Harry’s—they did not know which was which, and wondered if time would tell.

One Saturday night not long after Elizabeth and William were born Eggsy lay between Harry’s legs, with his back pressed to Harry’s chest, and his hands resting easily on his husband’s thighs. The babies were asleep in their cribs that remained right beside Harry’s side of the bed, though they shared the burden of awakening in the middle of the night over and over and over and over to soothe the infantile wailing.

“What if we had another?” Eggsy whispered, relishing the feeling of Harry’s long fingers rolling the muscles of his shoulders into relaxation.

“Another?” Harry chuckled and pressed a doting kiss to the beautiful back his husband’s head, “Your poor mum can hardly handle the twins during the week, let’s give her a break, shall we?”

“If you say so…” Eggsy struggled to speak through a yawn and Harry was transported back to all of those years ago, before babies and honeymoons and marriage, to the first time they had been together and they’d fallen asleep after falling into bed together.

“What’re you thinking mmbout?” Eggsy yawned again and blindly groped for the duvet, which he pulled over himself (and thus, Harry’s legs) and turned slightly to the side so his cheek was pressed heavily into Harry’s chest.

“That I love you now just as much as I did the first time you slept in this bed, if not more so.”

Eggsy’s eye cracked open, just the slightest bit so he could blink up at Harry in amusement and satisfaction,

“Really, Haz?” It was breathless and Harry could not restrain from swooping down to steal a soft kiss from those perfectly formed, perfectly pink lips.

“Absolutely. I’ve loved you more and more each day for years, and I will continue to do so for the rest of our life.”

“Me too.” Eggsy sighed out before letting his eyes slide shut and falling asleep. Elizabeth made the quietest coo from her crib and Harry made the mental note that Eggsy needed his rest, Harry would deal with the babies tonight, so Eggsy could rest up to his perfect self.

Harry Hart led a quiet life, a reserved life, but one bursting full of happiness, growth, a coworker turned boyfriend turned fiancé turned husband, two small dogs, two cherubs for babies, a sister-in-law who was learning to read and write as well as anyone else, and more love than he ever thought he could deserve. Harry Hart was happy, and that was enough.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This took me ages to write and I still feel as if there is something missing in the beginning, but I also feel like that just may be the obvious absence of happiness in Harry's life soooo let's call it artistic purpose.  
> I hope you've all enjoyed, please review and let me know what you think! I'm always available to talk!


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